


Something Different

by ThreeWhiskeyLunch



Series: Time Adrift Among Open Stars [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Ashley goes shopping, Choose Your Own Ending, F/F, F/M, Gender Neutral Shepard, Multiple Endings, Random Pairing Generator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3797356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeWhiskeyLunch/pseuds/ThreeWhiskeyLunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you don't know you want it until you see it. Or until it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Different

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Commander Shepard/Ashley Williams-never knew you wanted
> 
> Right. So, the prompt was Commander Shepard with no indication of male or female, so I wrote Shep as gender neutral. Pick your favorite and insert as desired.
> 
> Also, I wrote two endings. If you want a happy ending, stop at chapter 2 (where it says The End) and be done with it. The original non-happy ending that I wrote before realizing that this would be the third in a series of not necessarily happy endings is chapter 3. If you want, you can read it, but don’t come whining to me when your happy ending gets eaten by the non-happy one. In fact, you should probably just avoid that one altogether and live the rest of your days with a warm, fuzzy feeling whenever you think of Ashley and Shepard.
> 
> Titles for Chapters 2 and 3 reference The Rolling Stones “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”. I don’t own that.

There are many things that Ashley doesn’t own. No furniture like dining room tables or settees or tacky vases that sit precariously on tall stands. No antique desk or threadbare rug, no shelf full of books, no dog or dog bowl to feed it with. No bins full of things she hasn't looked at in years hidden away in storage, no family heirlooms to worry over, no garden gloves or frying pan or knickknack. She owns no home to put any of these things in and she's never wanted one. She can pack all her belongings in one duffle bag and she likes it like that.  
  
If one were to open that duffle bag, one would see that Ashley also doesn’t own frilly underwear. Growing up military, and more than a bit of a tomboy, she considers herself lucky that her mother stuffed her into a bra at some point after she hit puberty. She likes her bras gray and sporty and her underwear tighty-whitey. She owns 6 of each. Frilly underwear gets in the way, doesn’t feel comfortable, couldn’t possibly have any benefit-or so she tells herself. She doesn’t need any frilly underwear.  
  
So why is she standing in front of a lingerie store on the Citadel, staring at frilly underwear? Pink, no less.  
  
Pink is about as unserviceable as underwear goes. But the delicate lacy edges draw her in closer and closer until her nose bumps on the glass. She pulls back with a jerk, looking around with a blush of embarrassment to see if anyone had noticed. She wipes the smudge on the glass with the sleeve of her (very serviceable) fatigues, polishing away the evidence of her enthrallment.  
  
Her reflection in the glass wipes away the smudge on their side with just as much efficiency. She catches herself smiling and sees the smile returned. That Ashley is already on the inside of the shop. It wouldn't hurt to just go have a little look.  
  
But once inside she feels out of her element in more than one way. She feels large and coarse around all the finery. The ethereal Asari music coming from hidden speakers, the graceful displays of gossamer bras and sleepwear. The fur-lined slippers lined up in a row. She understands that. Lining up in rows. She picks up one of the slippers, feels the texture of the satin bow on the toe.  
  
"May I help you?"  
  
There's nothing in the tone that should cause the reaction but she jumps, feeling guilty for touching with her soldier's rough hands. The slipper flips out of her fingers' grasp and she makes a valiant effort to catch it. Had she been on the battlefield it would have been no issue, she could have made a dive and rolled and come up with it cradled in between elbow and chest, beaming from her success. But here everything is fragile, even the stands that the clothing is displayed on. She's awkward, her timing off. The slipper glances off her fingertip, heading for the rest of the shoes on the shelf. She makes another lunge, desperate to grab and it sends her body off-kilter. Her hip bumps into a rack of robes, sends it rocking precariously, the ruffles and lace swinging like a line of Rockettes.  
  
She reaches out to steady the rack, the other hand still extended for the dropping slipper which she misses. "I'm sorry, ma'am!" The shoe clatters down, scattering the others off their stands, wanting to domino from one to the next until nearly all of them are knocked askew. "I'm so sorry!" She's stabilized the rack of robes, holds her hand flat at it as if to tell it to 'stay'. "I'll clean it all up-"  
  
A dark blue hand of the Asari saleswoman rests on her arm. "It's alright. Please. I'll get it." Her voice is light, somewhat amused. As airy and bright as the items she sells. She stops Ashley's fumbling attempts to return order to the chaos she's sewn. "Please, Spectre Williams. Allow me."  
  
"What-you? Oh!" It's still new, this notoriety for being the second Human Spectre. She knows in theory that she was in the news. She didn't see it herself. She's been a little busy.  
  
The Asari guides her away from the scene of destruction, a gentle hand on her elbow. "Please, Spectre. Can I get you something? Tisane? Coffee? How may I serve you?"  
  
"No, I just-no, thank you. Ma'am. I was just-silly really. I should-" (-go. I should go. That's Shepard's line. How many times had she heard Shepard say that?)  
  
"You were looking at the Eliza collection, I believe?"  
  
"Eliza? No, I-" She's being led to a cushioned chair, pink velour fabric welcoming her into it's overstuffed embrace. "You don't have to-I mean, it's all too pretty for me."  
  
"Oh, nonsense." A cup of tisane is pressed into her hand, delicate bone china that makes her feel like she's in her grandmother's house, with all the delicate finery and doilies on the side tables that she mustn't touch with grubby fingers. "You're very beautiful, Spectre Williams. But every woman deserves something pretty. Even if they are covering it up with armor." The woman winks at her, a conspiratory slide of her mouth spreading into a warm smile. "Now, let me bring you a few things. In pink. And perhaps black, to set off your dark hair and creamy skin."  
  
"No! You don't-"  
  
But the woman is gone in a whiff of expensive perfume, leaving Ashley holding the cup and saucer awkwardly, perched with a stiff back on a chair that was meant to be sunken into. She sighs and looks down at the cup, sniffs it and finds it smells pleasant enough, like peppermint. She searches around her for somewhere to set the cup down with the intention of making a quiet exit. But before she's up, the Asari is back with a little trolley covered in lacy things of all sorts.  
  
"Oh! How pretty!" She doesn't recognize herself, this sudden gush of girliness that exerts itself. She feels a giggle-a giggle!-rise up that she can't contain. She reaches out and touches.


	2. Gets What She Wants

It's hours later when she finally returns to the _Normandy_ with not just a bag of lingerie in her hand, but also one with civilian clothes, and a bag with two pairs of very unsensible shoes that she's likely never to wear. She feels a heady rush of something, a breaking off from her past self, an unfamiliar spring in her step that she's never had before. She brushes her hair back as she waits in the decontamination chamber, fiddling with the hair behind her ears. She has a pleasing rush of anticipation, that she gets to share her new belongings with Shepard and she wonders what sort of conversation that will bring up. Or maybe 'action' would be a better descriptor. She feels a little breathless with the ideas that dance through her head as she steps onto the ship.  
  
Shepard is in the CIC when she passes through, gives her a raised eyebrow at the sight of her brightly colored bags. She smiles, nods towards the elevator as an invitation to come along, pleased when she hears footsteps following her.  
  
"You've been busy, " Shepard says, peering curiously into one of the bags. Ashley hits the button for Shepard's loft.  
  
She swats a hand away. "Patience."  
  
"Never had much." The elevator door closes and she's being crowded into the corner. Warm lips find that one spot just under her ear. The bags fall to the floor with a papery thud as she moans, wraps her arms around the strong back.  
  
"That's a lie," she whispers. "You waited for me."  
  
Shepard sighs, pulls back, fingers in her hair. "Because some things are worth waiting for."  
  
The elevator doors open with a waft of air. She pulls Shepard by the hand, eager to show off her purchases. "Come on. I want to show you." She pauses as she keys in the entry code, gives Shepard a long look. "Did you ever find something you didn't know you wanted until you saw it?"  
  
Shepard smiles, reaches up a finger to brush over her cheekbone. "Yes. I did." The intense gaze she's given makes her dizzy. All the longing, all the love, all the forgiveness; it's right there in Shepard's bright eyes. "Three years ago. And I hope she found something she wants too."  
  
She kisses Shepard, drawing back to step inside the loft. "More than you could know."  
  
 **La La La! The End!**


	3. Gets What She Needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No! Go back to chapter 2! Very Bad Reader! This is not the happy ending you are looking for. Where is Obi-Wan when you need him? I’m no good at this Jedi mind stuff. I warned you. No warm, fuzzy relationship ending here.

It's hours later when she finally returns to the _Normandy_ with not just a bag of lingerie in her hand, but also one with civilian clothes, and a bag with two pairs of very unsensible shoes that she's likely never to wear. She feels a heady rush of something, a breaking off from her past self, an unfamiliar spring in her step that she's never had before. It counteracts the strangeness of being back on the Normandy. Familiar, but different. Just like Shepard. Maybe just like herself.  
  
She sees them as she walks through the CIC, heads together over a datapad. Shepard and Liara. The two of them have become inseparable in more than one way. They’re professional in the command center, no one could chastise them for being inappropriate. And yet.  
  
And yet, there’s something about the way Shepard leans into the Asari woman, about the space that nearly shimmers around them. About the way Shepard’s mouth curls up in a smile that is only for Liara, eyes tender with love and caring. With desire.  
  
She has to look away. Her fists tight around the handles of her bags, clenching in anger and jealousy. Should have been her. Shepard should be looking at her like that, not that Asari-  
  
She shakes her head. Stupid. Stupid of her to think Shepard wouldn’t have moved on. Ashley had all but ripped Shepard’s heart out and stomped on it on Horizon. She’d been so hurt, wondering why Shep hadn’t contacted her right away. She knew there had been a meeting with Anderson. So why?- She shakes her head again to clear it. It’s pointless now, chewing and chewing over the same thing. Forgiveness had been sought and given. Flags of truce flown. That’s all in the past and it needs to stay there.  
  
She’s a Spectre and a Major. And above all, a Williams. Time to start acting like it.  
  
She finds it amusing that her first act of this declaration will be to put on lacy pink underwear.  
  
There’s no one in the crew quarters when she gets there. She places the bags on her bunk and empties them out carefully, lining them all up. She smooths her hand over the clothes. Her fingers linger especially over the several sets of bras and underwear. One set in pink, two in black. All frivolous and pretty. She strips down quickly, efficient in her movements as she changes over from her serviceable bra and white briefs into the slightly padded bra and just barely there panties. She pulls her uniform back on, squirming a bit at the unfamiliar feel of the underwire and the lighter than air lace as it rubs.  
  
Oh. Hm. Interesting.  
  
She takes a step, and another. Her hips roll just a smidge as she walks, a smile spreading over her face.  
  
Oh, definitely interesting.  
  
Her steps carry her back out and down the hall where she finds Vega standing at ease as he waits for the elevator.  
  
"Major."  
  
"El Tee."  
  
He gives her a sidelong glance. "You get your hair cut?"  
  
"No."  
  
"New lipstick?"  
  
"I don't wear any."  
  
He turns and looks at her, eyes scanning over her as if taking inventory. "Well, something's different."  
  
The elevator door opens and she steps in. "No. Nothing."  
  
Vega follows behind, hits the button for the CIC. "Well. You look good, whatever it is."  
  
She turns then and looks at him hard, with her best Major glare. "Lieutenant Vega. Shut it down."  
  
He has the wherewithal to look somewhat apologetic. "Sorry, Major." But he still can't turn the smile off completely.  
  
Ashley steps out of the elevator before him. Frankly, she can't turn the smile off either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side note, I kill Ashley with the nuke in ME1 when given the opportunity. So getting this pairing, I was all prepared to not like her. But then she got all doofy and endearing in that lingerie store, so I was a bit more willing to let her off the hook. She still annoys the crap outta me. But maybe not quite as much anymore. I'll still kill her with the nuke though.


End file.
